


Out the Box, Out of Line

by shine_alive (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prisoner of War, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/shine_alive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has a valuable prisoner and he'll do anything to make sure he doesn't escape. As it turns out, his prisoner doesn't object to his methods.<br/>(Chapter 1: Fic, Chapter 2: Art)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fic: Out the Box, Out of Line

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Out the Box, Out of Line  
>  **Prompt Number:** 11 submitted by [](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/profile)[**birdsofshore**](http://birdsofshore.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Kink Showcased:** Bondage  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Pairing(s):** Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy  
>  **Summary:** Harry has a valuable prisoner and he'll do anything to make sure he doesn't escape. As it turns out, his prisoner doesn't object to his methods.  
>  **Warnings:** Bondage, dub-con  
>  **Word Count:** 2,063  
>  **Author's Notes:** So many thanks for MKML for brainstorming and beta-ing. Birds, I hope you enjoy this fic and the accompanying [artwork!](http://hp-kinkfest.livejournal.com/145723.html) Title from Rihanna's song "S&M."

“Fuck no, Potter, you can’t take me back—can you _please_ untie me?” implored Draco with a deep flush covering every visible inch of his face and neck, visible even in the rapidly dimming light.

Harry snorted and fixed his gaze back on the ground before him as he yanked Draco along, narrowly skirting a tree stump. Cords bound Draco’s arms to his torso, rendering his upper body immobile as Harry pulled him by the ends, tugging harder as Draco’s feet dug into the hard dirt, trying to slow their grim trek.

“I promise I’m not going to run away, I swear,” continued Draco, his voice rising in pitch with every word. “Just get these bloody ropes off me—”

“Not likely,” replied Harry sharply, annoyed at Draco’s nerve. “You’ve promised to stay put twice now, and you’ve run away twice as soon as my back was turned. I’m not letting my most important prisoner run away.”

“Your only prisoner,” Draco muttered.

“Shut it.”

Harry pulled Draco onward while the latter punctuated the tranquillity of the woods with his complaints. Finally, they stepped past the rocks that marked the edge of Harry’s protective charms and the small, dingy shack in which Harry and Draco had stayed suddenly popped into view.

Near the entrance of the forlorn shelter, Harry abruptly let go of the ropes, and Draco wasted no time in stumbling away, his gaze darting left and right to decide on a path of escape. Harry smirked and pulled out his wand, amused that Draco thought he could get away.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_ ,” said Harry, and Draco toppled over like a stiff board. Though he was frozen, his eyes held clear resentment toward Harry.

“You’ve got no one but yourself to blame,” muttered Harry. “ _Lumos Maxima._ ” The tiny clearing around the shack brightened with a cool light.

He took several steps away from the shelter, returning with two slender tree branches and sticking them into the soil a little over a metre apart. Swishing his wand, he Transfigured them into two tall, thick posts with a metal ring in each. He tucked his wand back into his pocket and lugged Draco’s body toward the posts. Draco, though immobile, radiated resentment.

When Draco was at the posts, Harry took out his wand again. “ _Finite_ ,” he said. Draco slumped, his muscles finally loose. “ _Incarcerous_.” Ropes snaked out, wrapping around Draco’s wrists and tying him firmly to the metal rings sticking from the wood of the posts.

“You bastard,” muttered Draco, shifting uncomfortably in his sitting position, wiggling his fingers while glaring at Harry. “If my fingers lose circulation, you’ll answer to my mother.”

“I’m quaking with fear,” deadpanned Harry as he came forth to tug at the ropes himself, ensuring their tightness. “Somehow, your mother’s really not my greatest concer—” He gasped as he tripped over Draco’s outstretched leg while backing up a step and stumbled, catching himself with one hand against the ground and another on Draco’s stomach.

“Oof,” Draco breathed. He glared at Harry. “Watch it, will you?”

“Sorry,” gasped Harry, trying to find his balance when his left hand, innocuously sliding across Draco’s body, found something else instead.

Draco’s face flushed even more violently but he held Harry’s gaze defiantly, daring him to say something.

Harry didn’t.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” said Draco through gritted teeth.

“I know, it—no, of course not,” stammered Harry, getting to his feet. “Okay, er, you can’t run away now. I’m going to be—inside—”

The interior of the shack was much nicer than the outside; Harry had charmed the one large room and the dumpy stove in the corner to look liveable and usable. He left the door open so he could see Draco’s back whenever he glanced out the entrance.

Sitting on the ratty sofa—which had been infested with doxies, he’d just cleaned them out a week ago—he reached for a bag of stale, expired crackers. He chewed vigorously, but he crunching sounds in his head could not distract him entirely. His left hand clenched, remembering the feeling he had a few moments ago, of resting against Draco Malfoy’s erection, hot and unmistakably, painfully hard.

~*~*~

In the morning, when the sun’s rays began to slant through the window of the shack, Harry cast a cleaning charm on himself, stepped into his clothes, put on his glasses, and crept outside to check on Draco.

He expected to find Draco still sleeping, but instead, he was greeted with Draco’s flushed face and eyes that oscillated between scowling and squeezing shut with need. Harry took a step back to take in Draco’s restless bothered state, eyes lingering on the unmistakable bulge in his pants. He grinned; it wasn’t often he found his arch-nemesis from his school days in such a vulnerable situation.

“Hot and bothered, Malfoy?” he asked.

“You having a laugh?” Draco shot back. “I _told_ you to untie me, but no—you idiot.”

Something clicked in Harry’s mind and his eyes widened. “The ropes,” he exclaimed, “That’s what’s getting you worked up.” He chuckled breathlessly and, in a moment of sudden shamelessness, strode forward and knelt to press his hand against the crotch of Draco’s jeans to feel the straining hardness there.

Draco keened, rocking against Harry’s hand, before his eyes flew open and he hissed, “Fuck off, you kinky bastard.”

“I don’t think you can properly call me that,” replied Harry. He swallowed; the heel of his hand still brushed the front of Draco’s pants and he could feel Draco’s legs tremble in his effort not to thrust up against the light touch. His other hand rose to tug on the rope binding Draco’s left wrist to the post, feeling the resistance of supple skin through the material. The response was instantaneous; Draco gasped and his hand tightened into a fist as he glared at Harry.

“Stop playing around, Potter,” he snarled, his voice shaking despite the venom laced within it.

“I’m just beginning,” said Harry, standing and tugging on the ropes around Draco’s wrists so that Draco stood as well, wriggling the ropes up the wooden poles. Draco stood, shaking, his hips occasionally stuttering against empty air. Slowly, Harry walked around Draco until he stood so closely behind that his breath raised goose pimples on Draco’s skin.

“You want me to stop playing around?” asked Harry, his lips brushing the shell of Draco’s ear, feeling high on the power of having Draco shivering beneath his slight touch. “What do you want me to do, Malfoy?”

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath. “Get—get the fuck off me—”

“Really?” prompted Harry. “

Draco didn’t reply.

Harry’s hands grabbed Draco’s hips hard and he pressed his own denim-covered, swelling prick against the cleft of Draco’s clothed arse, grinding himself to full hardness as Draco’s breaths came faster and louder. “You’re lying,” he said. “You want me to help you. To _fuck_ you.” His right hand trailed up Draco’s abdomen and reached his hardened nipple, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger and feeling Draco shudder. “Look at you, all tied up—if I wanted to fuck you right this second, you wouldn’t be able to stop me, would you?”

Draco growled but didn’t reply, grinding his arse back against Harry so suddenly that Harry gasped.

“All right, if you’re so eager,” Harry breathed, but the taunt behinds his words was empty. He stripped as quickly as he could, freeing his prick, taking it in hand and giving it a few strokes up and down. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he grabbed his wand and wordlessly Vanished Draco’s clothing, leaving him bound and tense at the sudden loss of warmth and cover.

He came back around to face Draco, noting Draco’s gaze catching on his own erect cock before meeting his own with a mixture of defiance and desperation. Harry made no secret of looking at Draco’s cock, taking it in his own hand, feeling its length and rubbing his thumb across the vein and sensitive tip. His eyes travelled upward and his fingers traced the stark Dark Mark against Draco’s otherwise unblemished skin, the sign that might one day shoot up into the air above his own corpse. He felt a thrill from being intimate with something so forbidden and dangerous. Draco shuddered and Harry laughed.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he prompted, resuming his ministrations on Draco’s pick, and Draco let out a single strangled whimper—what Harry took to be concurrence.

He leaned forward to cut off the gasps from Draco’s lips with his own, his eyes sliding shut. His fingers crept their way from Draco’s hips up his torso and across his chest, tickling his neck, until they tangled in the white-blond strands and gripped hard. Draco kissed back hard, tugging at Harry’s lower lip while he thrust against Harry, his cock pressing against the junction of Harry’s thigh and pelvis.

“Hurry up,” he breathed. Harry could see volatile need clearly in his stormy eyes. “Please.”

Years ago when Harry had discovered the power of wandless spells, the Lubrication Charm was one of the first he had mastered; he cast it now. Draco jerked in his arms, the strange sensation taking him by surprise. Harry positioned himself behind Draco again, pushing his upper body down to gain easier access. Draco’s arms hung limply, held up by their bindings, and Harry felt his throat go dry upon seeing the marks of the ropes against his wrists. While one hand stroked his own cock, the other pressed one finger, then two, and finally three inside Draco.

“I’m ready,” panted Draco. “I—stop it with your fingers, I’m ready—”

“Yeah, ready for this, aren’t you?” replied Harry, trying to sound cocky through his breathless state—and then, after withdrawing his hand, he thrust into Draco in one smooth motion.

Harry fucked Draco quickly and roughly, and the liberties he took with Draco’s restrained body made his head swim and intensified his arousal in a way he’d never felt before. He shoved him and pressed up hard against him, he pulled him close and pushed him away, he fucked Draco while his hands rested on his own hips and watched Draco sway helplessly in his bonds, his feet unable to find steady purchase in the dirt. He reached around Draco to jerk him off, his wrist flying across the leaking prick as Draco bucked against him, his hoarse cries restrained to their bubble of security by the _Muffliato_ charms that Harry had set up as part of the wards.

Neither of them lasted very long, so tightly strung were they from the tensions that hung between them before. Draco’s body tensed as Harry’s pace became quicker and more erratic, his toes curling with long-anticipated gratification, and he came onto the loose dirt with a hoarse yell that expunged an entire night’s worth of frustration and sexual need. His climax, his arse squeezing tight around Harry’s cock and dragging up and down its length, pulled Harry into his own orgasm. He muffled his own helpless moans against Draco’s shoulder, biting down as his hips slammed into the flesh of Draco’s arse one final time before stilling.

Ordinarily—under any other circumstances, with any other person—he would have preferred the tenderness and intimacy of cleaning up by hand, using washcloths and warm water. But this was Draco Malfoy, his precious Death Eater prisoner that he’d just fucked, and he settled for using plain cleaning charms to rid them both of the hot, sticky evidence.

“ _Relashio_ ,” he murmured, and Draco fell to his hands and knees, no longer supported by the ropes against the posts.

Harry let Draco lean on him as he half-carried him back into the shack and settled him on his own run-down bed. Gently, he tucked the thin blanket around him, covering his nudity. For the first time, he noticed the weariness etched into the lines on Draco’s face, evidence of a night spent squirming instead of sleeping.

Impulsively, he grabbed Draco’s right wrist, which was deeply marked by the ropes, and began rubbing it firmly with his own fingers, trying to return the circulation there to normal and erase the creases from the taut ropes.

“It—it doesn’t mean anything,” Draco yawned.

Harry snorted. “Sure it doesn’t.”

He dropped the right wrist and moved to the left.


	2. Art: Out the Box, Out of Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has a valuable prisoner and he'll do anything to make sure he doesn't escape. As it turns out, his prisoner doesn't object to his methods.

Artwork also for fic prompt, accompanying fic (previous chapter).


End file.
